by Julie Solano
A tear streams from my eye and rolls down the side of my cheek. I’m exhausted, I’m in so much pain, I don’t know what hurts worse, my head, my shoulder, my ribs, stomach, or slivers shooting up my nail beds. I’m so dizzy, I can’t see straight. My world has become dark, blurry, and hopeless. As the light and sound begins to fade, I hear the soft echo of my pastor’s voice in my head, “I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”
I scream a desperate prayer, “Please God . . . Please . . . If you’re with me, help me!” I hear Pistol chuckle, and feel the rope tighten on my wrists. I let out one more scream, “Please!”
There’s a momentary pause, and a brief feeling of calm. It’s almost as though God himself is warning Pistol not to go through with this heinous plan. The momentary silence allows me to hear a strange scuffle, followed by a loud crunch. The full weight of his body comes plummeting down on me, but not in the way I’m expecting. It feels as though someone has just dropped a two hundred pound corpse on top of me. His dead weight buries me. I can’t move. My hands are tied, and I’m being smothered by my drunken stalker.
What just happened? Since there’s no movement, I dare to peek over Pistol’s slumping shoulder. There stands Peyton, holding a huge antique milk jug over her head, poised to strike him again. She’s shaking uncontrollably and I know I need to help her snap out of her state of shock.
“I’m okay . . . I’m okay . . . Thank you God.” I gasp. “Peyton . . . help me, Peyton! We have to get out of here!” I cry. It’s as though Peyton is staring beyond me, and not seeing my struggle. This must look horrifying. She’s still in shock. “Peyton . . . Look at me, Peyton. I’m tied!” I give one last kick, trying to roll a milk jug her way. As it rolls into her leg I yell, “Peyton, I’m down here!”
Suddenly, she drops her head, and her eyes meet mine. She drops the jug to the floor. “Kaitlyn. I’ve got you!” She reaches down and tugs Pistol’s torso from mine. He’s out cold, and too heavy to budge. “I can’t do this by myself,” Peyton’s voice shakes with fatigue.
“Get my hands,” I cry.
She unties my arms so I can help push the rest of his body from mine. When I’m finally free, we both kick at him violently, and work to roll him into the corner. I take the piggin string lying on the ground, and fumble nervously to tie his hands together. I have no strength, and I’m so dizzy I’m not sure how well I did, but I can sense we don’t have long.
“We’ve got to get out of here Peyton. Let’s go.” I get up to run, and fall right back to the ground. I’m hurt and dizzy. I need help. Peyton gets me back on my feet. I take three steps toward the door and fall to the ground again. “I can’t do it!” I cry. “Peyton! Go! He’s gonna kill me! Go get help!” We jump when we hear rustling coming from the dark corner where we left Pistol.
“I will not leave you with him Kaitlyn. He’s waking up. Put your arm around my neck . . .” Peyton whispers, moving in under my good shoulder. I stand again, using her for balance. “One step at a time, Sis. Let’s go.”
Sidled up next to her, Peyton shuffles me through the room and out the door. In a series of baby steps, we move toward the exit of the tack room. I trip and stumble when we accidentally kick one of the many milk jugs scattered along the floor. Again, Peyton catches me. “Here, let’s use this for light.” She pulls my phone from her pocket.
“My phone? How did you get that?”
“I think it fell out of your pocket when we were taking pictures. It’s a good thing too. It’s the reason I came looking for you.”
We use the light of the phone to make our way out of the little tack house and into the cool night air. Peyton shuffles me down to Mason’s and sets me up against an old oak tree to rest while she calls the boys to tell them where we are. As I work to tune out the pain and the world around me, Peyton’s voice fades off into the distance. I sit against the cool tree in a state of shock, looking up to the night sky. My gaze catches one of the last oak leaves, drifting on the breeze. I follow its path until it vanishes from sight. Tracking the drifting leaf has left me in a state of delirium. The pain and fear begin to subside. The last thing that crosses my mind as I slip from consciousness is how beautiful and comforting it is out here in the wide open space at the Mason Ranch. The autumn breeze kisses my fresh wounds, and calms my churning stomach. The music off in the distance, lulls me into a dreamlike state. “The boys are on their way,” I hear Peyton’s whisper. “Oh, I found something else.” I feel Peyton set something light and cool in my hand. She gently pushes my fingers around it. “It’s your necklace. I found it by your phone. You’re safe now Kait.” At her words, my mind slips away completely.
“YOU KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO have to come out sometime, right Honey?” My mom peeks her head through my doorway and tries to coax me out of my room for the umpteenth time this week. I nod my head and continue to stare down at my guitar, trying to figure out the fingering for the melody that keeps swirling around in my head.
I’ve barely come out of my room for two weeks. My parents have me on independent study so I don’t even have to go to school. My superficial wounds have healed; the knots on my head are gone, and I’m back to normal . . . on the outside. Inside, I’m a billowing mess, and I really don’t want anyone to see how broken and scared I am. Pistol got away. This fact has haunted me for the last three-hundred seventeen hours and forty-two minutes. Somehow, between the time I drifted off against the oak tree, and the time the boys got to me, Pistol disappeared. Now, he’s out there somewhere, and I’m scared as hell that he’s going to come back and finish the job that he started.
I jump every time I hear the creak of my floor, or the whipping of an oak branch against my bedroom window. I never realized how eerie the sounds of fall can be. I’m tired from the lack of sleep, and nauseous because I can’t shake the incessant nightmare that continues to creep into my thoughts. Every time I close my eyes, the darkness lets him back into my mind, his forceful grip, shadowy, dark face, the smell of liquor on his breath, and his raspy, drunken slur. He broke me that night . . . completely and utterly broke me.
After coming out to the ranch and taking my new report, Officer Marnia warned me about the potential likelihood of his return. They searched for hours with no luck. She promised she and her team would keep vigilant watch over me until they find Pistol; but I know in my heart, it will take an army standing guard at my house all hours of the day to keep me safe. Her warnings have left me anxious and rattled. I live with the new reality that I’m being hunted. I can’t even walk down my hallway without looking over my shoulder. I know the minute I let my guard down, Pistol will attack. My home, has become my prison. The only safety I’ve found, is the corner of my bedroom, where I can face the door. There, at least I know he can’t attack me from behind.
The only time I don’t fixate on my fear is when I pick up my guitar. It’s my release, and helps clear my mind. I begin to play some of the worship songs and ballads that have brought me comfort in the past, but my own lyrics continue to break through each song and sneak their way into my head. Visions of this magnificent fall and the hurt that has come with it beat at the back of my mind. This time of year is so incredible. There’s a final burst of unimaginable color and fantastic life, revealing that even in the transition to death there is wonder, beauty, and strength. And even in its glory, this type of beauty is often paralleled by uncontrollable sadness and loss. My vision is a reminder that everything changes, and even things that were once brilliant and lovely, fade away, fall off, and sometimes break.
Why does it have to hurt so badly? Why has this fall left me so broken? This has been the hardest season of my life. Images of being hit, dragged, torn, and broken float through my mind. They are replaced by greens, turning to vivid, reds, oranges, and yellows. Visions of hospital rooms and gurneys change to forested mountains and green pastures. I feel heat turning to cold, and see falling leaves meandering on the gentle breeze. The slideshow is a collage of images swapping back and forth between beauty
and pain, comfort and fear, love and hate. The incessant reel rolls through my mind as I strum and strum, searching for words to describe this crazy kaleidoscope of imagery. Finally, in one magical moment, there is an intermingling of all of my senses, images, and words, and it hits me . . . This is exactly what the world becomes “When fall breaks.”
The images surging through my mind have been trapped for weeks. They’ve been clawing at me, setting my nerves on fire, and tearing me apart. The only way I can think to release this haunting metaphor, is to write it down in words and pour it out in song. Talking with the therapist hasn’t seemed to help. Hiding shamefully in the corner at the teen support group hasn’t done a thing for me either. It’s time for a new approach. I’m going to do this situation some poetic justice. Besides, I’ve often thought about how great it would feel to get revenge through a song. It seems to work for Taylor. That’s it . . . I’m gonna Taylor Swift that asshole! My mind has cleared, and for the first time in weeks, a smile emerges. I take out a piece of paper and begin to write.
When Fall Breaks
Sittin’ on the tailgate of his daddy’s truck;
baskin’ in the bonfire’s glow
He holds me tight and twirls my hair
as the wind begins to blow
He pulls me close and holds me tight;
my heart jumps for goodness sake
There’s nothin’ quite like a country night
with him~
When fall breaks
And just like that the winds of time
unleash the bitter cold
His love grows dim, the colors die;
to him we’re growin old
I watch them dance around the floor
tears roll as my heart aches
There’s nothin’ quite like a broken heart
from him~
When fall breaks
Chorus
And with the change of seasons——
I’m jumping the gun here . . . I need another verse before that chorus . . . I begin to scratch out the next line, when my door swings open and I’m interrupted by my mom.
“So Kiddo, Dad and I have been talking with Brody’s and Mason’s grandparents. We want to get you kids away for Thanksgiving. We thought it would be fun if we all went to Salmon River for vacation this year. There’s plenty of room for everyone to stay at their family cabins and we know how you kids love it over there. We were thinking, we could even go Christmas tree cutting the day after Thanksgiving. There are beautiful Silver Tips up in the Marbles.” I pause and look up from my songwriting when my mom pops back in my room with her newest ploy to try to get me out of the house. “Of course, we’ll go with the Baileys and the Tatums. Cinda and I are going to have to miss some of our adoption stories on TV, but you know we’ll bring our wine glasses,” she laughs, jokingly trying to lighten the mood. “Caden will bring Peyton too. I know how much all of you kids love to hang out together. What do you think?”
Well, the first thing that runs through my mind is, Is it safe? But that’s not what comes out of my mouth. What I actually say is, “Can we bring the guns?” The look on my mom’s face reveals that, that was wrong thing to say. Her mouth is practically hanging to the floor and I know I’ve shocked her with my unsettling thoughts. I know I should say I’m just joking; but I’m not. There’s no way I want to be that far from civilization without some kind of weapon capable of blasting a few holes through my relentless predator. I do not want her to stick me in any more therapy. I’ve got to throw her off the trail, and make her think I’m not still scared about Pistol. “Mom, I’ve taken hunter’s safety. I shoot with Dad all the time. It’s just a precaution. You know, for bears and stuff. They’re really bad right now cuz of the fires. You know we even had three bears in our neighborhood this week . . . and that’s right in town. If we’re going to be out in that forest scouting for a tree, I’m at least taking my 22.” Yep, that was the right thing to say.
I know I’m over rationalizing to her, but she seems to relax as she reasons, “I see what you mean, Dear. It’s always a good idea to be prepared for the unexpected. Oh, you may want to take a shower. Brody called, and whether you want to see him or not, he’s headed over here.”
“Dang it! Mom, you can’t let him see me like this! I really wish you would have told him I was busy.” I haven’t let Brody visit me since the day after the barn dance. I can’t handle seeing the pain in his eyes when he looks at me. He keeps texting me that he’s sorry, he let me down again . . . I don’t want him to feel bad. He can’t be my protector every minute of every day. Odds are, if he’s in my life, he’s going to be dealing with a lot more of the kind of disappointment that comes from me getting hurt. I’m a walking danger magnet. I know it’s just a matter of time before Pistol comes for me again. And I’ll be darned if Brody is going to feel responsible when he finally kills me. If I can just push him away long enough, maybe he won’t feel like I belong to him anymore. I have to end this with Brody. He doesn’t deserve to have my burdens . . . and I don’t want to put him in danger. I’m not good enough for him anyway. Brody deserves safety, happiness, and a future. I’ll just hold onto him in my songs and in my dreams. That’s it. When he comes over today, I’m ending it with him for good. Even as I’m thinking these thoughts, I’m falling apart inside. There will never be anyone who treats me like he does. Even in my dreams, I could not have pictured a boyfriend as perfect as him. How will I go on without the greatest guy I have ever known? I don’t know . . . I don’t want to know. But I will have to try . . . for his sake.
“Kaitlyn, I’m not going to lie to him. He knows darned well you haven’t left this room. You have been cooped up long enough. You love this time of year. Now, get yourself in the shower, get your butt out the door, and experience the fall as it’s meant to be experienced. I hear he wants to take you ice-skating down in Mt. Shasta. It’ll do you some good to get out of this dungeon. You’ve got ten minutes to get in that shower, and then I’m letting him know it’s safe to come in.”
It’s no use. I’m not going to be able to fight her on this one. She can be very stubborn when her mind is set on something . . . and right now, it’s set on getting me out of this house. “Wow, Mom you sure are a dragon slayer, aren’t you?”
Chuckling my mom says, “I’m about ready to grab my stinky, little dragon by the tail and throw her into that shower. Now move it Puff. The clock is tickin’.”
When I get out of the bathroom, Brody is sitting on my bed waiting for me. He looks down at his hands, twirling a slender, square, silver package back and forth. He doesn’t even look up when I hear his soft voice floating toward me. “I brought you your present.” He lifts it up a little, so I can see the gift he’s holding. “I meant to give it to you on your birthday, but . . . well, you know.” I can hear the hurt in his voice, and I hate the fact that I have caused him such pain.
“Are you okay, Brody?” I walk over and take the gift from his hand.
“Just missing you, Pip.” He shakes his head, continuing to look down. “You haven’t let me see or talk to you for almost two weeks. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of protecting you. I know I let you down. I know that’s why you don’t want to see me. Isn’t it?” He finally looks up, and I see shame blanketing his face.
“Bro, you didn’t let me down.” I set the gift on the bed and grab onto the sides of his face. “This is my fault. I keep putting you in dangerous situations where you have to protect me. Brody, this is not fair to you. I don’t want to do this to you anymore.”
“What are you trying to say, Pip? I don’t think I like where this is going.”
“I’m saying, I love you Brody Tatum. I love you more than anything in the world, and that’s why I’m letting you go.”
Brody springs from the bed. “Damn it Pip.” He raises his voice, and lowers it again when he sees me jump. “I’m not going anywhere. You are not pushing me away. I won’t let you. You see this Pip?” Brody pulls the gift from the bed and op
ens it in front of me. He holds a CD, with his writing scrawled across the label. “This is us.” He brings it up next to his face and slightly shakes it back and forth. “You listen to this, and tell me we’re not meant to be together. I’ve put every song that ever reminded me of us on here. This is our story, and I’m not letting it end now, not like this.” Brody drops to his knees in front of me. “I love you Kaitlyn Elizabeth Woodley. The thought of losing you kills me. You can try to push me away, but it’s not going to work. I was made to love you. I was made to protect you. That’s never been more clear to me than it is at this moment. So go ahead and fight me on this. But I’m not going anywhere.”
He drops the CD at my feet, “I’ll be out in the front room. Meet me out there when you’re ready to let me love you.” He stands up and slowly moves out the door. I am so confused. I don’t know what to think. I love him, and I don’t want to hurt him. But sometimes the only way to protect someone you love is to keep them out of harms way. And to me, that means, keeping Brody in the safety zone . . . away from me. I pick the CD up off the ground and read the label.
To the one who hung my moon,
sparked the flame in my heart, and
painted my country nights beautiful.
Happy Birthday Babe.
Love Forever & Always,
Brody
I slide the CD into the computer, plug in my headphones, and listen intently to each and every word on that album. Even though I can sense Brody is still at my house, I don’t leave my room. I don’t know what time he leaves that night, or if he does at all. All I know, is this is the best darned CD I’ve ever heard in my life, and as long as I’m plugged in, I reside in another world; a place where I feel safe, calm, and at peace. Word after word and tune after tune, wrap themselves around my soul. My heart begins to soften. The heartbreak of fall begins to chip away. It’s replaced by happy childhood memories, good old fashioned country fun, an evolving friendship, and a growing love. I love this cure . . . almost as much as I love the boy who made it.